Reflections of a Dead Man
by Coollizard
Summary: Light's post-mortem reflections on death, failure, and a man he hated.


So. . . I'm dead.

That's rather depressing, if you think about it.

I'm not supposed to be dead. I'm _not _supposed to be _dead! _I was supposed to be the God of the new world!

Well, so much for that plan.

I still can't believe it turned out this way. How did I slip up so badly? L had been dead for years; I was practically home free! It was all going so well, and then. . .

I should have planned for the notebook switch. Hell, it was obvious! I could have had Mikami save a few sheets of Death Note paper in a coat pocket or something, just to be safe. I would have been _so easy_ to avoid. . .

But I didn't see it. Maybe I just lost my touch during all those years without competition. And now I'm dead.

The way I died too! What a perfect way to end a failed vision in disgrace. As if Ryuk would ever save me! Was I really that blind, or just too desperate to care? I'm not even sure anymore.

Nothingness. . . it's like going back to those boring years of high school. Pointless then and pointless now. I feel like my whole life was just an intermission between a constant stream of nothing. A moment that sparked once from the darkness, and faded just as quickly.

It was fun though, in some weird, twisted way. I changed history; not many people can say they've done that. It's not nearly good enough, but it is something. And I did finally have a challenge.

Fighting L was something I'll never forget. It was wonderful, the feeling of being pushed to your absolute limit, the thrill of knowing that any false step could be fatal. I wonder if what I felt was the battle lust you always hear of. Well, that would be fitting; we were enemies, engaged in a struggle for life and death.

I suppose I'll never see him again. Thanks to the Death Note, I won't be seeing any old faces again at all. Well, except maybe Misa. Or Takada and Mikami. I can't say I'm looking forwards to that.

But I'll admit I really wish I could meet with him one last time. I mean, who wouldn't want to gloat over that annoying, eccentric freak? I can't explain it, but I feel as though I'd be resigned to spending the rest of eternity in nothingness if I could just talk to him once more.

No, it's not because I cared for him.

Not that the word of dead man means anything. But honestly, how could you understand? You didn't _win_. Yes, I know waving in someone's face how they died before you seems like a stupid excuse for wanting to see them, but I faced off with him for _years_. Beating him was practically my goal in life.

No! Cleansing the world was my goal in life; beating L was just a necessary step on the path of justice. My perspective is becoming skewed again. . . He was another obstacle and nothing more.

Maybe our deadlock lasted too long. It's easy to lose sight of the bigger picture in favor of the matter at hand.

Laughable. I never was one to yield to distraction.

I never was one to die either.

Well, in the end, I suppose his side won, but that wasn't him. It was some kid playing hero and a mob member, not L. I suppose that's more of a reason for me to feel bitter about dying, but that's nothing but pride. I _beat_ him. I _won_. Yes, it's childish, but what else do I have? My dream of founding a new world was shot to pieces; is it that strange that I cling to the memory of wiping that anorexic, hubristic fool off the map?

All those days and nights in confinement. Those long weeks we were handcuffed together. All those tests, mind games, deceptions; they all payed off the day Rem killed him.

All the times I had to act like just an ordinary teen, completely devoted to finding Kira. The days when Misa dragged me on dates, or forced her irrelevant frivolities down my throat. The stupid tennis games he got me to play. The times we sat around the collage campus pretending we weren't suspect and detective.

The many fights we had. The chess game he challenged me to. The days we'd sit around just talking, like normal people. The all-nighters we pulled together. The discussions we had, about everything from the weather to our place in the universe. The way we knew each other's habits like we were brothers. The times we could have easily completed each other's sentences, while the rest of the team was completely lost.

The day on the roof we said good-bye.

No, I _don't_ miss him. All that was an act. Everything was just a necessary, annoying, disgusting little act to make him think I wasn't Kira. He was only a distraction, a bump on the path to the new world. He had to go. He was in the way.

I never cared about him.

Yes, I pretended to be torn up over his death. I acted torn over my father's death, too. Human emotions are necessary for leading others, as repulsive as that fact is.

How could I be anything but elated when he finally died? That prideful little bastard was finally out of my life! Out of my plan for the world! Who wouldn't be ecstatic? L, the idiot with an inflated concept of his own worth, the "invincible" fool who would go to any lengths to succeed, gone! Once and for all, gone!

It was victory over the greatest challenge I had ever faced in my life. After that, everything was just. . .

Simple.

Easy.

Boring.

Well, but that was a price I needed to pay for my vision. It was a new world! A world free of crime and hatred; a utopia! What was boredom compared to that? I needed him dead. The _world_ needed him dead. The world needed to be cleansed, needed a god, needed _me_. And what sort of a useless god would I be if I couldn't live with killing people, or if I couldn't deal with boredom, or if I kept obsessing over a friendship that had never even existe–

He was nothing to me! He meant–! He meant nothing at all; I never cared about him. . .

And now I'm dead, and he's dead, and I'll never see him again, and it doesn't matter because I. . . never. . . _cared. . . !_

.

.

.

Dammit. . . There's a lot of dust in the air.


End file.
